Mistaken Assumptions
by NewCliches
Summary: After the first movie, there is one man Mindy has reason to dislike more than Frank D'Amico...
1. Chapter 1

**Mistaken Assumptions**

I should have run after the warehouse burned. Emptied my accounts and fled New York. Set up shop in Costa Rica or Antigua or somewhere as a bouncer or a pool cleaner or whatever. I didn't.

So here I am. Chained to the wall with a hood over my face, waiting to die. Telling myself I should have done things differently. Thing is, I never really worried about Frank, or his enemies. Why should I have? The biggest gang in the city is the one I belong to, and he was not going to mess with that. Even if I didn't always act as my gang wanted me to. And it is not as if gangsters are usually much good at violence anyway. If you actually have to carry out a threat, you can't be that much good at threats, and Frank was very good at threats.

After we saw the tape of the guy who hit the warehouse, I should have run. I knew Franks enemies weren't following the second rule, why did I assume they still had to follow the first?

Fuck.

I got nabbed in the john, of all places. There I was, minding my own business, when the world went all woozy and black. This cell or cellar or whatever you want to call it, is where I found myself. There was not much in it, except myself, a useless radiator, and one lousy light bulb which I don't think has ever been off while I have been down here.

When I woke here, I was alone. The door was locked, but I could stick next to it to jump whoever came through. It is a long time since I fought anything other than paper work, but you've got to try. I tried and was flattened. She beat the crap out of me and only then handcuffed me to the radiator. Just to prove a point. Or maybe for the fun of it, because she was grinning like a maniac.

Purple Girl, the child-sized killer who helped fuck up Franks live execution, nailing his people from behind, while they were shooting at her friends behind the camera.

So there I was, on the floor, unable to stand, barely able to speak. Stuck inside her people's cell. So I told her she needed my help.

I think it's fair to say she looked sceptical.

"I'm a cop", I pointed out, as if they didn't know. "You're a bunch of criminals. You sure as hell aren't Internal Affairs. Cops can help criminals. What do you need more than a friend in the department? A _high-ranking_ friend in the department."

"Like you protected Frank", she said. "He's dead."

"We didn't get him", I pointed out. "If not for your lot, he'd still be as happy as a priest in a whorehouse full of altar boys. I can protect you from the biggest gang in this city. And I don't think you're that afraid of the smaller gangs". She smiled at that. "And I can get you everything we have on the other gangs. Whatever intel you like."

"Yeah", she said. "We thought you would say that. Prove it. What exactly did you do for Frank? When did you start? What did you do for his rivals?"

I thought I had them. Like I said, gangsters don't like to fight the cops. There I was, battered, bleeding, on the floor at the feet of a girl the size of a twelve-year old, and I said: "Show me the money. Show me the money, and I'll tell you about the past. Then we can talk about the future."

She had ten grand in the traditional small used bills. That's a lot to be given when you're sitting in someone's cell. Means the people with money trusted her, too.

She wanted to start at the beginning. When did I start on Franks payroll? Christ, I hadn't thought about that in years. I had to admit it wasn't something I had dreamed of doing when I swore that oath. But. I had three ex-wives to support. I'd swear they seem to pop up without my ever having to marry anyone in the first place. So between the alimony and the child support and the odd luxury for myself and my actual wife, life was getting expensive. So I was already taking what chances I could to make a little money whenever I had a chance to be helpful to people. I suppose it's like selling anything else: as long as you don't take the piss, people will always come back for more.

So eventually, even the big boys started to trust me and ask for favours. For a consideration, of course.

But I wasn't that much use to Frank, because I wasn't that important within the department. There were too many people wanting to go after Frank for someone at my level to turn aside. And there were a couple of fucking crusaders determined to nail him whatever happened. And my latest marriage was beginning to look a bit troubled, so I could see a lot of new expenses for myself on the horizon. Although actually that worked out fine in the end, we've been happy ever since.

Anyway, it looked like I was heading for trouble, and Frank was heading for trouble, and that was when I got The Idea. I had a few friends in the department, and so did Frank, and with a bit of help from them, I could make the crusading duo Go Away. It just required putting the right evidence in the right place.

If it wasn't for me Frank might have had them both shot, so I could say I did them both a favour. Jail is better than the grave, and the other one just got sidelined. A bit of office politics is better than bullets isn't it?

At this point I caught sight of Purple Girls expression. Sympathetic she was not. Frank burned one of her people alive, and damn nearly did it to another, and I bet she still thought he was weak. Scary bitch.

Anyway, that bit of office politics was the real start of a beautiful friendship. Frank could be a great guy. I made a big point to Purple Girl about how good he was to his friends, and how my friends and I could repay that year in and year out. Frank shared a lot of enemies with the department, if you think about it. Other gangsters, mostly.

He could help me go after those, and help me rise. The further I went, the more use I could be to him. It is all a matter of setting priorities, of making sure that something else always took precedence over this one guy. And the occasional bit of misleading.

Not that Purple Girl was easily persuaded by all this. She wanted specifics. Details. Names. Dates. She wanted every name, from my closest friends to everyone who had looked the other way when a speeding car had a fellow officer in it. We spent hours going through it all, with her taking notes on some iPad, and even going off to make drinks from time to time. She actually looked quite cute when she was being domestic. Reminded me of my own daughters. Until I looked in her eyes. Whenever I talked about Frank doing in some rival she managed to look amused and disappointed simultaneously. Like Frank wasn't sadistic enough for her. I've never been so glad to know that someone needed me.

She wanted to know how I handled Franks payments, too. She said they didn't want to deal with anyone who would publically spend a lot of unexplainable income, and attract attention. That was not too hard for me. A lot of my unofficial income went to my exes, and in return, they didn't make too many demands of my official earnings. Other people have it harder, but there are always people willing to help launder a cops unofficial income. As I said, people like to have friends in the police. She wanted details about them too.

Eventually, we were done. Purple Girl thought her people would be satisfied by all this. Give them a week to confirm some of it, and their own payments would start flowing. I told her Frank had paid me twice what I had actually got from the old skinflint, and she agreed to half the figure I gave. For the moment.

I walked out of that building with a shopping list of information they wanted in my head, ten thousand dollars heavier than when I went in, and with a promise of future employment. Not bad for someone who was dragged into it unconscious eight hours before. I was so sure I had them. They needed me.

I could have run there and then. I can't believe I didn't run.


	2. Chapter 2

I had a couple of later meetings with Purple Girl, weeks apart. Like my meetings with Frank, I let everybody think I was meeting with some informant in out-of-the-way place. Which in a sense I was. I had some details to give her about various gangs in the city, and she had pointers about various gangland killings that I could use. And, of course, money. Although that mostly went straight to my friendly accountant. Things went fairly well until our last meeting, when she drugged me and I woke up to find myself chained to the wall.

Not exactly the wall, actually. The plastic rope tied my feet together and disappeared up some ruined chimney. My hands were tied behind my back, and also around my waist. I couldn't move them an inch. Purple Girl was standing next to another length of rope, which also disappeared up the chimney. When I tried to stand, she pulled on her rope, and mine pulled my feet out from under me.

So obviously her idiot friends thought that I had been cheating them in some way. Fuck. An idiot can kill you as dead as anyone with a sensible reason.

I tried to sound as if I was exasperated by another of life's little problems, and not as if I was at the mercy of a band of psychotic killers who liked to dress as cartoon characters while they were killing people.

"So I take it that someone thinks I have not been completely straight with you", I said. "Well, if you can tell me what they are worried about, I'm sure we can get this straightened out, before the NYPD goes looking for their missing detective. It would be very embarrassing for both of us if they broke in here and found us like this…"

She yanked on her rope again, and left me with my legs heading up into that ruined chimney, and my back resting on the floor. I looked up at her standing over me, and she booted me in the head. Fuck, but she kicked hard. There must be steel in those boots. I think I passed out for a second. It took me a moment to realise what she was saying.

"No", she said. "I know you have been very honest with me. Just not with the people of New York. Your mistake."

After a moment she went on. "So this is what is going to happen. Tomorrow morning, your best friends in the police are going to be dead. Your favourite accountants will be dead. You will be dead. And besides your body they will find all the proof you gave to me about how nice you were to the bad guys who paid you off. And all the other corrupt officers you told me about. It will be in a lot of journalists' inboxes as well. You're gonna be famous."

"Fuck", I shouted, "You're a bunch of criminals yourselves…"

Another boot to the head.

"Do you know why that rope leads up a chimney?" she asked. "In the old days a man who committed treason was hanged, drawn and quartered. But bitches were burned alive."

I think I started to beg before being booted again.

"And since you spent all that time as D'Amicos bitch, I'd say you're a bitch. I'm gonna soak you in gas, haul you feet first up that chimney, and set fire to you. Smoke rises, so you won't choke. It will take a long time. I might even get to finish you off afterwards."

She gave me a moment to take that in. I remembered what Frank had planned for her friends. I remembered what had happened to Frank, and everybody who worked for him. I didn't doubt she meant every word she said. I was just…numb.

She added: "And then I'm going to kill your family. All four of them."

"They never did anything!" I shouted.

"They took your dirty money. They took your money, they knew you were dirty, and they stayed quiet about it."

I stared at her. I've never seen a face alive with such contempt and hatred. I couldn't think of anything to say. It was like she was at the opposite side of the universe, too far away to hear anything a normal human being could say to her.

Then she kneeled down and tied a hood over my head. The world went black. I could hear her footsteps walking away. Just before the door shut she said, "I hope you've made your peace with God."

Fuck.

Fuck.

If there is a fucking God, he'll know I never did anything to deserve this. I provided for my family – is that a crime? And my kids, even my exes…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…


	3. Chapter 3

I don't know how long it has been since she left me here. Long enough to leave me thirsty.

I can hear the door opening. I say "Please…" but the next words die before they reach my throat. I really have no idea what to say to this person. No idea how she works.

Someone once told me that no one struggles on their way to the gas chamber or the chair. It seems so pointless. And happening to somebody else.

She removes my hood, and l blink in the light. She is carrying a single can, and I recognise the smell of gas. In the centre of her chest I can see a mark. A single handprint, the colour of fresh human blood.

"My kids", I say. "My family. They didn't do anything. Please for Christ's sake have some mercy…" I babble, and I realise that I'm babbling and that I'm begging, but I won't stop as long as she lets me…

She looks down at me like I'm some kind of insect. Not even a particularly interesting insect. But she doesn't stop me.

She just soaks me. And then she pulls on her rope, and my rope pulls me up into the chimney to meet my end. Blood rushes to my head, which itself bounces off a couple of ruined bricks. I feel nothing.

She stops when my head is at her eye level. The flue is so ruined that I can still see her. I could see other things if I looked, but I don't. Just the curiosity and triumph she now allows me to see.

She can still hear me. I keep begging while she sets up a camera on a tripod a few inches from my face. Finally, she speaks.

"D'Amico only killed my Daddy", she says calmly, "You betrayed him."

She steps aside, picks up a cigarette lighter.

"You are going to die screaming," she says, "and I am going to watch. And whenever I feel lonely, or miserable, or unhappy, I am going to watch you scream again. And then I will smile. Then I will grin."

She is grinning now.

I scream at her, asking for mercy, begging her to let my children live, not me I don't care about what happens to me, just my kids, the youngest is seven years old, what could he have done and she says…

"OK."

She ignites her lighter and I say, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

She ignites the gas and as my screams of gratitude turn into screams of pain I can still see her face shining with absolute fucking delight.


End file.
